


Of Propriety and Portulaca Grandiflora

by mini_yellow_oranges



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But Not Much, F/M, Fluff, a smidge of angst, holmesbury - Freeform, no beta we die like Dowager Lady Tewksbury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_yellow_oranges/pseuds/mini_yellow_oranges
Summary: Enola goes to a party. Finds a Tewksbury she’s been estranged with for five years. Stuff happens.
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 10
Kudos: 126





	Of Propriety and Portulaca Grandiflora

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my docs and I’ve been fiddling with it too much and I finally decided enough is enough. Hope you enjoy :)

Enola was bored. She normally didn’t like parties, but she had just solved a murder case, and her clients had passed their invitation on to her instead, taking a much needed tour of the country. Enola believed they had plans to go abroad but she never confirmed. After all, it wasn’t her place. 

Just like how it wasn’t her place at such a social gathering. And yet here she was, hair pinned up in ridiculous curls, a powdered face, neck, shoulders, and bust, which was quite a bit lower than she preferred (“A young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be ashamed of showing off sometimes,” the dressmaker had said), pinched in a size-too-small dress, with the collar positively drooping off her shoulders. At least the gown was a pretty cream charmeuse embroidered with little daisies and roses and flowers with ribbons and lace lining the half-poofy sleeves. 

Enola sighed. Unfortunately it would’ve seemed rude for her to refuse the invitation, and the kind people had already sent a message ahead to the hosts about the switch up. She had no idea who they were, or what the party was for, though. But maybe she would get a case here. ...Her hopes weren’t high for that.

She scanned the guests milling about and chatting. That gentleman there was having an affair with his wife. The lady there seemed shifty, as though she had places to get to. Or maybe a large secret she was hiding. But Enola couldn’t very well go up and ask, or even attempt at subtly prying the information from her. 

And that gentleman there— her eyes lit up, and before she knew it, she was elbowing her way through people and grinning from ear to ear.

“Tewksbury!” she called.

He turned around. “Enola!”

And before either could think otherwise, Enola leapt into his arms and he hugged her round the waist just as hard.

“Glad to see you’re not dead,” Tewksbury said, eyes crinkling, pulling apart. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive as well,” Enola laughed, dropping back down to her feet. God, he was much taller now than when they were children. His shoulders were broader, and his jaw was strong too, she noted with a faint blush. The only thing that hadn’t changed were his twinkly eyes and his hair, which was as floppy (and ridiculous) as ever, although now it framed his face properly and didn’t look like it was hacked off with a knife. 

“So what brings you  _ here _ ?” Tewksbury asked.

“My previous clients are taking a holiday abroad and offered me an invitation,” Enola explained. “I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

“You’re- you’re not?” Why did he sound disappointed?

“No. I don't even know what it’s for, or who the hosts are!” A couple people around them gave her strange looks. Much fewer than the ones after they had hugged. Didn’t these people know anything better than to eavesdrop on other peoples’ conversations?

“You don’t? Truly?” Tewsdbury asked, eyes glinting in amusement.

“Either you tell me what’s going on instead of making fun of me, or I will not be afraid to speak out,” Enola said haughtily. But a small smile at the corners of her mouth let Tewksbury know she wasn’t being entirely serious. Well, maybe. You could never tell with a detective.  _ Or _ a Holmes. 

“It’s an engagement party,” he laughed. “For me,” he added, before Enola could say anything else.

“Oh.”

“It’s not decided yet, of course, but all these ladies are hoping to add ‘Lady Basilwether’ to their numerous other titles— none more so than the daughter of the Lady who offered her house to throw it for me in the first place” he said, rolling his eyes.

“That’s- that’s good then. Not the title thing, but the- uh- other  _ other _ thing.” She turned away flushing. She didn’t know why she was so red— must be her stutter. ‘A Holmes never stutters’ is the only thing her mother and brothers can agree on. It didn’t explain why she felt this mortification so poignantly though. 

“Is the great Enola Holmes  _ blushing _ ?” Tewksbury grinned, leaning down into her to better see her face.

“No of course not! Perhaps you should watch your mouth Tewksbury, or I’ll vanish for another five years!”

A pained expression crossed his face. Now to address the question that had been circling both their heads since their paths had crossed that evening. 

“Why did you?” When he spoke, he sounded truly hurt.

“I-” Enola looked around. “Not- not right now. Not here,” she whispered, shaking her head, tears pricking her eyes.

“Alright,” Tewksbury said, reluctantly. 

They were silent for a few moments. 

“So?”

“So what?”

“Aren’t you going to sneak us out of here?” Tewksbury grinned. 

“What?” Enola looked so surprised he had to chuckle. 

“Why not?”

“Well it wouldn’t be proper, would it,  _ Lord _ Tewksbury?”

“Who thought I’d be the one who encourages the mischief?” Tewksbury’s eyes twinkled. 

“Oh please,” Enola rolled her eyes, “ _ you _ were the drama queen who ran away from home and jumped off a train with me!” They both chuckled, ignoring (yet again) the more strange looks from the people around them. 

“People were planning to kill me!” Tewksbury said, still laughing. 

“Which you didn’t know when you sneezed out of a bag, nincompoop.”

A pause. “You’ll have to make a plan worthy of the ‘great Enola Holmes’ though,” Enola whispered slyly to him, as they began walking round the room together, mimicking his earlier statement. 

“I’m sure I know just the thing,” Twesbury winked at her. 

They milled about, at the edges of the room, sipping wine and champagne. At last, Tewksbury saw his chance and whispered “This way”. Enola just had time enough to set her glass on a nearby table before he was grabbing her hand and dashing out a nearby door. They darted up stairways, through empty corridors and passages. They had to duck behind a statue once, to avoid some maids, and Enola had to stuff her fist into her mouth to stop the giggles. Her hand burned where Tewksbury still had a tight grip on it. 

“Here,” he whispered, and they ducked into an empty room, breathless and laughing. 

“Not bad,” Enola laughed. “A simple plan, sure, but it worked in the end.”

“Oh, please. I always have the best escape plans.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have us be crammed in a box to be taken out.”

“Believe it or not,  _ Miss Holmes _ , that’s not the only escape plan I have.”

“I'm sure,” she teased. 

They wandered about the room— an upstairs sitting room for a lady by the looks of it. There were small tea-tables next to couches and armchairs, and cabinets and shelving areas around the periphery of the room. Everything was delicate- from the furniture to the expensive looking wallpaper to the items scattered about the room themselves. 

Enola trailed her hand against the silk of a plush chair as she made her way to a small window blowing a soft breeze through its curtains, bringing a hint of the scent of London into the heavily perfumed room that wished to forget it. Tewksbury wandered over to flip through a little stack of books on one of the tea-tables.  _ Court Magazine _ ;  _ Raw’s Ladies Fashionable Repository _ ;  _ Ladies Monthly Museum _ ;  _ The World of Fashion and Continental Feuilletons _ ; and  _ Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion, Music and Romance _ being some titles among general newspapers. 

“I’m sorry,” Enola suddenly said. A pause. Tewksbury stepped from the tea-table towards her. 

“Five years.  _ Five years _ Enola. Just a word would’ve been enough.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She picked at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I- I didn’t know if you were dead or not, or just as close as, and every time a new story came out,” Tewksbury let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair nervously, “I was terrified yet again at how close you’d come to-” he took a deep breath, not knowing what to say next. 

Enola grabbed the arm that was running through his hair. 

“Listen, Tewks, it’s okay, I’m not dead, and I-”

“But you could be Enola, don’t you see that?” Tewksbury burst out, whirling around to face her. Her hand slipped down to his wrist. “You-” he looked deep in her eyes and, as if suddenly realizing how close they were, he moved back, looking down at the couch.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered. 

Enola stared at him, at his adam’s apple bobbing, his floppy hair, strong jawline, misty eyes, and then at their hands, almost entwined. 

“I’m sorry.”

He brought his other hand over to squeeze hers on top and silently brought it to his lips, still not looking at her. Even though his lips barely brushed against it, her breath still caught. 

“For- for the most part, I’ve been keeping up with you in the papers too.”

Tewksbury chuckled, warm and low, finally looking at her. “Yeah?”

“It would be hard not to. The great Lord Tewksbury, prominent supporter of reform, outspoken, grand, eloquent in his behaviors!” Enola said in a pompous accent, causing Tewksbury to smile. 

“You have to be careful though. There’s– I don’t know how many people I’ve encountered on cases who don’t like what you’re doing.”

Tewksbury grinned. “That’s just the life of progressive politics, darling,” he winked. Enola flushed. 

“Even so, promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Sure,” he laughed, not taking her seriously, shifting to turn away. 

“Tewksbury  _ please _ . Promise me.” 

Tewksbury looked over at Enola to see tears glimmering in her eyes, face flushed even more due to earnestness. 

“I don’t-” she swallowed, head bowing, “I don’t know what I’d do without you either,” she whispered. 

“Do you truly mean that?” he asked lowly. 

Enola nodded. 

“I care for you, Tewksbury, and I truly am sorry I didn’t show it much these past five years.”

“Why did you?”

Enola looked up at him. 

“Why did you leave?” Tewksbury asked, even more quietly than last time. Unconsciously, they shifted closer. 

“I think I was scared. Still am really.” Enola looked up at him, a note of confusion in his eyes. Their conversation had dwindled down to whispers, and they were standing closer than they had noticed. Space was little, and it was  _ charged _ . 

Enola glanced up at Tewksbury’s lips and murmured, “You have no idea the things you do to my heart.” She leaned forward, his eyes widened as he registered what she had said, and before he knew it he had leaned down and they were kissing, kissing as if they’d done this a million times before, as if he wasn’t going to get engaged that night, as if she wasn’t going to leave again, both uprooting the other in a whirlwind of feelings and sorrow and split paths. 

Kissing, as if they had all the time in the world.

. . . 

They returned to the party, hair disheveled (they  _ had _ tried to fix it), Enola’s hair half down, breathless and cheeks pink, hoping nobody would notice. They were just in time for all of the guests to leave, and poor Tewksbury had to thank and wish everyone well on their way out, tidy clothes rumpled slightly and cravat crooked. 

Enola stayed as long as she could, chatting with Lady Tewksbury, who eyed her with a warm, knowing smile, until she was one of the last there. 

“Enola?” Tewksbury returned.

“Oh. Is it time already?” Enola said, disappointment tinging her voice. He’d be getting proposals any day now and this would be the last she’d see of him for… a while. Maybe longer. Enola tried not to cry. 

They headed out to her carriage with his mother trailing behind the two.

Enola didn’t want to leave. 

“You don’t have to leave you know, “ he said, in the middle of handing her into the carriage. Enola looked at him from the second step. “What if it was I that asked you to stay?” His eyes had the same look they had all those years ago when he’d asked the very same question through the gates. 

Enola knew her answer now. Squeezed his hand. Considered it.

“Then I’ll stay.”

“Okay. Good then, I mean-” Tewksbury let out a single breathy laugh, causing Enola to chuckle as well, staring into his eyes as deep as he did. 

“Well!” They both startled, whirling around. Enola unconsciously gripped his shoulder, and Tewksbury’s hand went to her waist to steady her. Lady Tewksbury was smiling as she said, “It seems the engagement party wasn’t a complete failure after all.” Both went beet red at the insinuation, but neither disagreed. 

“Well?” Tewksbury asked, turning back around to her. 

“I- I suppose I shall see you tomorrow then?” Enola asked, stepping into the carriage, cheeks red for the second time that night. 

“You shall.” 

Especially with a kiss on the back of her hand that lingered a moment too long, and eyes that bored into her very soul, it felt like he was agreeing to more than just a visit, and she was asking for a lot more. 

And for once, it didn’t scare her.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay it’s finally up!!
> 
> Also I tried to research Georgian/ Victorian houses and magazines and fashion and stuff as best as I could, but if I get anything wrong, feel free to yell at me in the comments. 
> 
> (If you want to know what got out of all those Google searches is that 1830s fashion was absolutely ridiculous, hair to hem.)


End file.
